


Shall we get intimate again? (I think so, I think so)

by andnowforyaya



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Constipation, Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Pack Family, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 03:58:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andnowforyaya/pseuds/andnowforyaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So you may already know this," he begins as she rakes her nails through his short hair. He doesn't lean into the touch. He <em>doesn't</em>. </p><p>"But I'm part of this pack? And the Alpha of this pack is really possessive and, uh, generally angry. He's of the violently-maul-first-ask-questions-later persuasion. Which could be really bad for you."</p><p>.</p><p>Or, the one where it's the beginning of Summer and the pack are finally home, so of course Stiles gets himself kidnapped by a Siren just the week before, and upon his rescue finds his touch-and-go relationship with Derek a lot less touch and a lot more go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There are a few things that slot into place in Stiles' mind when he comes to in a dark, unfamiliar room, with his hands bound together around the headboard of a small bed.

First, that the Bestiary _lied_ and Sirens do not target sailors and seafarers because Stiles hasn't been on a boat since he was seven years old and his family went on a cruise and he spent the entire three-day journey trying to hurl himself over the side of the ship on account of how seasick the rocking waters made him.

Second, that he should probably invest in a pair of leather handcuffs because _damn_ his wrists are raw but in a pleasantly aching way and the leather binding him to the headboard is warm and gives a little if he needs it. Useful information for a rainy day.

Third, that this god-awful singing that he thought was coming from another building is actually getting closer and is actually probably coming from this building, this floor, and then there are footsteps and the voice gets louder, and then to his right the door clicks open, letting in a sliver of light in the darkness.

He narrows his eyes against it, glaring at a silhouette of a woman as she opens the door fully, and now the singing is at an all-time-high, her voice grating against his ears. It's not  _unpleasant_ , Stiles grumbles internally; it's just not really his thing. Like, he can listen to Country music just fine but he doesn't particularly enjoy it. That's what this lady's singing is like.

The light from the doorway floods the room, so Stiles can see that he thankfully still has all of his clothes on, even if he's starting to lose feeling in his fingers, and that the bed is the main piece of furniture in this room. There's a chest of drawers in one corner, and a huge body-length mirror propped against a wall, but that's just about it. The woman comes closer and draws a knee up onto the bed.

Objectively, Stiles can confirm that she is pretty convincingly attractive. She's catlike in the way that Erica is, blue eyes turning up at the corners and lined in smoky Kohl. She has thick, long brown hair that tumbles down her back and over her shoulders in waves and she's - coming close to him on the bed, mattress dipping, teeth flashing as she continues to sing,  and - oh.

Stiles resolutely does not look at her exposed breasts because he is a  _gentleman_ , thank you very much.

Okay, so his eyes dart down of their own accord, and they really are nice breasts, smallish but firm and supple-looking. The woman smiles at him, knowing he's looked.

There is a hitch in her singing, which Stiles takes full advantage of to blitz her with his usual babble. "Uh, hi? Is there a reason why you're naked in front of me and I'm tied to your bed? I mean, I assume this is your bed. Would be kind of strange if this was some random person's bed. I mean, stranger than waking up with a supernatural being hovering over me looking like she wants to eat me--"

Stiles gulps. "You don't want to  _eat_  me, do you?"

The Siren throws her leg over his torso, straddling him. Stiles' eyes roll back into his head.

This is an all right feeling, really. The problem of course is that he has no idea what this smoking young thing wants with him and what she'll do to him after. Also that Derek can be really possessive.

Like, this one time, Stiles had woken up to Derek's arm curled around his naked torso, nose nuzzling into the space between Stiles' shoulder blades, and it had been really, really nice, lazing in the warm sun, but then he had heard someone puttering about in the kitchen, quite pointedly slamming cabinet doors open and shut to announce his presence, so Stiles had slid out from underneath Derek's heavy arm to tip toe downstairs after pulling on a shirt to make some frittatas and hash. Isaac had been there, just arrived and slightly hazy from lack of sleep, and he hovered, itching to help, so Stiles put him on egg-cracking duty while Stiles chopped the vegetables, and they were working close together, side by side, when Derek stumbled in blearily through the doorway, not truly awake yet.

Derek had sniffed once before  _pouncing_  on Isaac, dragging him away from Stiles, out of the kitchen with nothing more than some growls and angry eyes. And then he had come back to take over Isaac's job in the kitchen himself. The morning passed by pretty normally after that, with Isaac leery of sudden movements.

Still, though. That had been weird.

Point being, he really feels it's important to warn this woman of Derek's ability to go from zero to murder in .2 seconds flat.

"So you may already know this," he begins as she rakes her nails through his short hair. He doesn't lean into the touch. He  _doesn't_. 

"But I'm part of this pack? And the Alpha of this pack is really possessive and, uh, generally angry. He's of the violently-maul-first-ask-questions-later persuasion. Which could be really bad for you."

She says, voice smoky, "You talk too much."

And then she leans forward and kisses him.

Stiles bucks, because enough is enough, and now the leather is chafing a little against his wrists, and the Siren grunts against his lips. When she pulls back, she's frowning.

Stiles matches her frown and then multiplies it by a hundred.

"You're not Enthralled," she says lowly, confused. Stiles refuses to find her little head tilt adorable.

"Thrilling as this is, no. Just. No." He raises his eyebrows at her, trying to drive the point home.

She climbs off his lap, and when he blinks again she's dressed, crossing her arms in front of her. Well - dressed being that she is wearing some really classy lingerie. "Interesting," she mumbles, glancing back at the door. She sighs.

Within moments, a door that Stiles can't see but he can definitely hear as it slams against the wall, is kicked open with a roar, followed by growling, followed by footsteps. The Siren still stands with her arms crossed, glancing first at the empty doorway and then back at Stiles, looking very put-upon. This is followed by Derek's appearance in the doorway, frozen with his claws extended, an expression on his face that could be mistaken for sexual repression but Stiles recognizes as unmitigated rage.

He knows, because he often puts both of those expressions on Derek's face within moments of each other, sometimes even at the same time.

"Hello," he tries lightly, waggling his fingers a little bit at Derek. Still tied to the bed. Derek's shoulders move up and down rhythmically, like he's forcing himself to breathe.

"Stiles," Derek forces out, nostrils flaring. "What the fuck."

"Um," he says. "Help?"

The Siren rolls her eyes at both of them. It's an impressive eye-roll, reminding Stiles of Lydia. She says, "You can take him. It's not working, anyway." Which of course Derek takes to mean the worst possible meaning so his nostrils flare again and he levels a glare at Stiles, like Stiles is the one in the wrong.

"What's not working?" he growls, advancing on the Siren finally. His eyes flicker to Stiles' crotch, which is working just fine, thank you very much. They glare at each other some more.

The Siren flips her hair and sends the perfume of roses wafting in Stiles' direction. "I can't hold him under a spell," she complains. "So he's no use to me." Her stance grows sensual as she eyes Derek's figure and stubble and general manliness. "You, however..." she purrs.

Derek growls at her, low and guttural, and she backs off. "Fine, whatever. I just wanted someone around, and I had it on good faith that this one can cook."

"Dude," Stiles interjects. "I could have cooked for you, no problem, no Enthralling necessary."

For some reason, this statement just makes Derek  _radiate_  anger. His eyes flash red.

The woman says, "I'm going to change. You two can find your own way out." And then she slinks out of the room, eyes lingering on the two of them.

That leaves Stiles alone with Derek. Tied up on a bed.

Stiles gulps. He watches Derek watch the line of his throat. How many times has he wanted to? And how many times has Derek said no to this kind of thing?

He said it made his instinct flare up, if Stiles was  _like that_. Weakened. Restrained. At his mercy.

Stiles shivers, thinking about it, and to distract himself from Derek's heated stare he asks, "How did you find me?"

And Derek answers, "I listened for your heartbeat," like that's the most normal answer in the world.

"My  _heartbeat_?" Stiles practically hisses, because what does that even mean?

Derek tilts his head, thinking. "And your scent," he continues, attempting to appease. "You have a very distinct scent."

Derek approaches and leans over him on the bed, and Stiles wonders if he can hear the rapid machine-gun firing of his heart now. Derek's face tightens as he lengthens a claw and with a quick  _snick!_  the leather around Stiles' wrists falls away, so yeah, Stiles thinks he can hear it.

.

He buys a pair of leather handcuffs online.

Hey, you never know.

.

"What do you mean, it didn't work?" Scott presses. He's leaning in from the passenger seat towards Stiles, who grips the steering wheel defensively.

"I mean she must have tried her little Siren thing and then she gave up because it wasn't working on me so then she let me go. Let us go." Stiles pauses, thinking. The light stays red. "Maybe I have an immunity thing like Lydia?"

"I doubt it," Scott answers immediately. Oh he of little faith.

"Well I don't know what else it could be," Stiles grumbles. The light finally turns green, and Stiles urges his Jeep forward gently.

"Sirens are, like, temptresses, right?"

Stiles nods.

"So maybe it's like a tempting thing. Maybe she couldn't tempt you."

"Dude, she was like one of the most attractive ladies I have ever seen."

"Well, you  _are_  bi," Scott offers.

"What's  _that_  supposed to mean?" He allows himself to frown while keeping his eyes on the road. Mostly.

"I don't know. Maybe it doesn't work the same. Maybe it would have worked if she were a man? Or, like maybe it didn't work because you are already thinking about someone else? Yeah.  _Yeah_."

Stiles can see Scott grow more enamored of the idea, the way his eyebrows rise up on his forehead, the way his eyes grow brighter. "No," Stiles says firmly. "No," again because he needs to reassure himself. "And I'm pretty sure Sirens don't differentiate like that, anyway."

Okay, but per Scott's point - so maybe he thinks about Derek. Like, a lot.

But he knows that he and Derek are never going to be a official thing, just an on-and-off sort of thing that leaves him feeling just shy of complete every morning after. Derek is never going to want a relationship. That had been pretty clear when Derek told him after he fixed him some pancakes one late morning and they had been alone in the kitchen and Stiles had been wearing just his boxers and some fuzzy bunny slippers and Derek had been squeezing syrup out of Aunt Jemima and he had said, almost offhand, "I'm not looking for a relationship."

"Cool," Stiles said. He flipped another hotcake. He's never chanced bringing it up again.

A shiver runs up and down his spine when he thinks about calling Derek his  _boyfriend_.

Werewolf Scott notices, of course, and immediately points it out. "You're thinking of some guy right now!" he accuses, pointing a finger. "Who is it? Spill, Stiles."

"What? No. There isn't even - there's nothing to spill," Stiles stammers.

"Your heart tells me you're lying," Scott informs him sardonically.

"Fucking lie-detectors. I miss when you used to take everything I said for the truth."

"I don't," Scott mumbles, lips twitching at their corners so that Stiles knows he's joking. He drops it, mostly because Stiles has reached Scott's house and Scott is climbing out of the car to make it in time for dinner with his mom, but there's a look in his eyes that spells trouble.

Stiles does not appreciate the look at all. It is much better suited to his own face, anyway.

.

He doesn't suspect anything until Lydia saunters into the kitchen one evening for their monthly pack dinners - it's a thing, okay, Stiles believes in ritual and so, surprisingly, did Derek, and besides it was nice for them all to get under each other's skin like they used to back in high school now that they were spread out along the West coast in college or working or what-have-you. Stiles came back more often than the others because someone had to keep his Dad's fridge stocked with things other than ketchup and beer, but it wasn't the same as when they were all under one roof. Derek's roof.

They even have a system. At first they tried potluck. That failed miserably when everyone decided to bring mashed potatoes and wine to the same dinner. After that, the system kind of just became Stiles buying all the groceries with Derek's money and commandeering Derek's kitchen for an afternoon and everyone else trying to help but mostly just eating the food that came out of the kitchen as it was finished.

A well-established rule, though, is that Lydia is not allowed in the kitchen. Because the last time she was in the kitchen her hair had caught fire and the casualties that followed were too traumatic to recount.

So, Lydia is in the kitchen now, and Stiles double-checks that none of the burners are on yet, since he's still in the sorting-for-chopping phase of prep.

"So what's this about Immunity?" Lydia asks him, twirling her strawberry blonde hair between her fingers. She's never one to beat around the bush. Stiles takes three onions out of the bag full of them that he had gotten from the market and places them in a bowl in the counter.

"What's what about Immunity?" he shoots back, hedging. He takes out some bell peppers, too. Tonight he's craving something spicy and possibly Asian. He picked up some Thai chilies, so maybe he's making some spicy basil stir-fry.

"Scott told Allison who told me that last weekend while you were here you were kidnapped by a Siren and then she tried to do her love spell on you and it didn't work and for some reason Derek came to your rescue." She cocks her head to the side. "Main question that I have there, actually, is how Derek knew you were in trouble in the first place. I mean, when you come back without us it's mostly to hang out with your dad, right? So how did Derek know something was wrong? Unless he knew you were home. Which means you went to see him. Or he came to see you. Which means - "

"You think they'll get angry if I make this with tofu and not beef?" Stiles interrupts loudly, which he quickly realizes is a mistake.

Lydia's eyes widen, clarity growing within them, and Stiles shouldn't have been defensive about it, because Lydia puts two and two together and gets:

"Oh my god. Sometimes you come back to spend time with  _Derek_."

And then she slaps him on the arm, hard.

Stiles startles. "Jesus Christ, Lyds!  _What_?" He  gives her his best look of indignation before rubbing at his upper arm, pouting.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she demands, hands on hips, lips pursed.

"Tell you  _what_?" He knows he's treading on thin ice here, playing at ignorance. He shrugs and slides a knife out of the block.

"Don't even," Lydia warns. "I thought we were friends, Stilinski."

"Um, we are?" He slices one onion in half, methodically removing the outer layer.

"Friends tell each other when they're sleeping with Derek Hale."

The knife slips. Stiles hisses, "Say it louder, why don't you." And yeah, not the best turn of phrase with Lydia Martin, who decides to do just that, taking an exaggerated breath and opening her mouth.

She manages to get out, "I can't believe you're sleeping with--!" before Stiles claps a hand over her mouth (without the knife, yes), eyes pleading.

"Don't."

The word acquiesces Lydia. She nods against his hand, and he takes it away cautiously, going back to chopping when Lydia makes no sudden moves to betray him.

"How long?" she asks instead, lowly.

"Couple of months," Stiles says, shrugging again. "On and off."

That earns him another slap.

"Ow!"

"You deserve that," Lydia informs him. "A couple of months?!"

"So?" Chop, chop, chop goes the knife.

"Is it serious?"

"Um," Stiles says, heart going a mile a minute. "Um, aaaaah."

"Never mind." Lydia shakes her head brusquely, going so far as to wave her hand at Stiles dismissively. "I get it."

She gives him a full-body once over that would have made Stiles flush beet red all over, before. Now it just confuses him. "Okay," she says to herself, nodding. And then she walks out of the kitchen.

Stiles frowns after her, but she is soon replaced by Isaac, who has always been pleasant company in the kitchen.

They end up making spicy basil stir-fry. He makes a beef version and a tofu version. Not that it matters, since there are no leftovers, anyway.

.


	2. Chapter 2

Since it's summer, the monthly pack dinners quickly morph into weekly ones, and then soon enough Derek Hale's house becomes the pack's Friday Night Hangout with Movies and Too Many Boxes of Pizza. Not that Stiles has ever really sincerely thought there could be such a thing as Too Many Boxes of Pizza.

.

He runs into Derek, almost literally, on a morning jog through a trail that snakes around the community, and Derek's running in the other direction, shirtless, sweat glistening all over. Stiles, red-faced, stops, so Derek stops, too. The sounds of the town seem very far away.

"Listen," Stiles begins, and he has the worst timing ever. "I never thanked you for, you know, coming to my rescue."

Derek backpedals and Stiles almost wants to swallow the words back into his mouth at the look that comes across Derek's face. Is that _regret_?

Something twists painfully in Stiles' gut. "Wow, okay. I mean it's not like a big--"

"It was nothing," Derek says, shifting like he's about to start running again. "Really."

And then he is running. Away. From Stiles, who stands stupidly on this trail of dirt in the woods, wondering why Derek is in such a hurry to get away from him.

.

After that it's like he can never get Derek alone for more than two seconds, so eventually he stops trying, since Derek doesn't seem to be trying, either. This couple of months on-and-off thing has always felt a little fragile, so it's okay, Stiles thinks, for a little space to happen.

Maybe Derek is still freaking out over the Siren. Maybe he's even a little jealous. Or maybe he's just angry. Most signs point to the latter.

So it's Friday night again and Stiles is starting to get antsy, because the only people here so far are he and Derek, and everyone else has been acting pretty shifty lately, ever since they came back for the summer. Lydia is almost being _nice_ to him, which throws him, and makes him highly suspicious of the price she will inevitably ask of him for her graciousness in the near future.

And there's about at least ten boxes of pizza on its way over for consumption, and Derek in hideous basketball shorts and a t-shirt sitting comfortably on the couch and Stiles in jeans and a college tee sitting on the other end of it, thumbs flying over the screen of his phone. They've found a history show that makes Derek grin with his teeth and have settled into it, waiting for the others.

 _where are you?_ he texts Scott.

The almost immediate reply is _dude sorry Allison wanted a date night I didn't tell you?_

Stiles thinks back on the week, can vaguely recall Scott mentioning that he had plans on Friday when they were in the middle of conducting a hugely successful raid in their pajamas in front of Scott's television playing Call of Duty. He frowns, disappointed, but he can't really hold it against Scott. He and Allison have only recently started up again after what seemed to be an eternity of pining, so.

He texts Isaac next, but only receives a short _out with Danny!_

Which also rules out Danny.

He's about to text Lydia - sneaks a glance at the television, and Derek is considering the Vikings putting on their battle armor, absorbed - when his phone beeps with a message from her.

It says, _don't try to get out of this, Stilinski. do you even know how much time I spent making sure you two would be alone tonight?_

His eyes are wide. He glances at Derek again, heart jumping at the thought that he can use his totally unfair werewolf-enhanced eyesight to read this text from his position in the couch, but Derek's eyes are still glued to the screen. A battle rages.

He thinks that's the end of Lydia's missive, but then his phone beeps again.

_you have issues you need to work out._

Issues, Stiles thinks. What issues?

He and Derek Hale have zero issues. They have long-since moved past the aggressive slam-Stiles-into-furniture-and-walls-to get-him-to-do-what-Derek-wants phase, which was followed by grudging tolerance for each other in the same space, which was followed by snapping sarcasm and Stiles chasing after Derek's rare laugh. And then they had slept together, and Derek said he didn't do relationships.

But then they kept sleeping together.

And sometimes Stiles made them both breakfast, and Derek put some of Stiles' clothes in his laundry. Sometimes they had nights where they didn't do anything but sit together on Derek's couch, surfing channels and eating take-out, and Stiles would add things onto his grocery list on his phone, which no longer separates between things he's getting for his dad and things he's getting for the pack.

Nope, no issues here.

Except for how Derek has been a little stand-offish ever since the Siren. And how he doesn't call what they have a relationship but, _hello_ , it is clearly a relationship. But he didn't - doesn't - want to push, doesn't want any part of what they're doing with each other remind him of Kate. Regardless, this is _something,_ and it's something that has recently hit a weird snag on account of supernatural interference.

 _Right_ , he texts Lydia. Because she's always right, even if she doesn't know half of what's going on.

.

So now there's Derek. The Viking on the screen has blood spattered over his face, and in his teeth, when he crows victory and spoils to Odin. Derek huffs, amused. Stiles brings his naked feet up onto the cushions, pushes his toes into the space between Derek's thighs and the couch, and watches Derek's face for a reaction.

"The others bail?" Derek grunts, finally turning to face Stiles. He makes no mention of the feet, but he does hook a hand around one of Stiles' ankles, thumb rubbing back and forth along his skin thoughtlessly.

"Yeah," Stiles says, fighting to keep nonchalance in his tone. "Looks like it's just us two."

"Looks like."

Stiles wiggles his toes underneath Derek's thigh, smirking, yelping a little when he gets a little tap on his calf in return. Derek raises a brow at him, clearly not amused.

Then he goes back to watching the television.

After about two minutes of silence filled by the closing scene of the show, Stiles wiggles his toes again, and Derek growls in annoyance, but Stiles hates awkward silences almost as much as being ignored, both of which Derek has been supplying for him in droves recently, it seems, so he says, "So how are we going to eat ten boxes of pizza between us? Because, dude, I know you can pack food away like you're about to go into hibernation, but I'd like to think you would stop yourself after your second box."

"I have a freezer," Derek tells him evenly, and that's it. Vanilla answer and vanilla reaction to Stiles' annoying cold toes and something frigid between them.

The indifference is worse than anger. Stiles can do space when it's necessary because of anger, or jealously, or something of the like. He can. He can deal with Derek drifting a little, as long as they come back into each other's orbits eventually. But indifference means he doesn't care at all. 

He admits it, he panics a little. And when he panics, he babbles.

"I guess we could keep the pizzas in the freezer until next Friday. But then what if the pizza starts to taste like Freon? Is that a thing that you can taste? I always complain to my dad about things tasting like the freezer if things are left in there for too long, but he always says I'm making it up, but I swear it just tastes like, like ice gone bad and chemicals. Scott can't taste it; I've asked. But honestly, his observations can leave much to be desired. Like, what do you think about Scott's theory," is what he finds himself saying. "About the Siren thing?" he elaborates, even though he knows he doesn't have to. "I don't know how I feel about it as a theory. Can't exactly be falsified, can it? Which is a thing."

When he's done speaking, he blinks and realizes that Derek is looking at him in horror, eyes round and mouth in a tight line. The grip around his ankle has returned, and it even prickles a little at his skin, meaning that Derek's claws are itching to come out.

Anger, then. Or annoyance.

Both of which are better than indifference.

"No, listen," Stiles continues, because he likes Derek's attention. Always has. "It's not like it's a _bad_ theory. I mean, he thinks that the Siren had no effect on me because I couldn't be tempted by her. Because there was already someone else who was getting in the way."

"Why are we talking about this," Derek hisses, but Stiles is on a roll, blundering on, heart picking up its pace as he spills out in words all of his thoughts that have been racing around in his head since the beginning of the summer.

"It's like, it's a love spell that doesn't work because you're already in love? Right?" Derek's fingers tighten and Stiles kicks at him, irritable and gaining momentum. "Yeah, totally cliche, right? But I guess...I mean I guess I could see it."

Derek lets go of his ankle, drapes his arm over the back of his couch. His nostrils are flaring as he glares at the television and grits, "So who's the lucky person?"

Which.

What?

Stiles literally sees white for a millisecond. Like, everything whites out and he can't understand how Derek can even ask him that question. He's pretty sure he stops breathing. "Are you--wait. Really?"

Even though he's spread out on his couch, Derek looks small and suddenly uncomfortable. He looks like he wishes he could be anywhere but here, stuck in his own house with Stiles as his only company. His voice is miserable and low when he asks, "It's Lydia, isn't it? It always has been."

"Lydia?" Stiles almost screeches, mind reeling. Derek's eyebrows are pinching together in a way that means he's feeling something very real and trying to repress it. Stiles knows, and he also knows if he tries to repress anything more he's probably going to implode on himself. The tone catches him off guard. This entire time Stiles has thought Derek was angry about the Siren, or maybe jealous of it. But.

Derek is jealous of _Lydia_. He almost doesn't laugh because he knows it would be inappropriate, but he can't help it, the laughter is ripped out of him, equal parts relief and amusement. Because Lydia isn't even on Derek's _level_ , not anymore.

Derek's lip turns downward dangerously, so Stiles moves quickly to soothe his bruised ego. "No way," he insists. "No way, no way. She _terrifies_ me. Sometimes I think that maybe I want to _be_ her, but yeah, no. It's not Lydia, anymore."

But this only makes Derek's eyebrows knit together even more, and Stiles swears to the fucking moon for these past few weeks to be some weird misunderstanding, because he's missed this; he's missed them. "So then," Derek starts, eyes intent on Stiles again. He's leaning forward, mouth parted slightly. "Who is it? Is it someone else in the pack? Is it _Scott_?"

Laughter again. Oh, Stiles is going to _cry_. He stares back at Derek's stupid-beautiful face and can't believe how dense they both are with each other. He reaches forward, until Derek's cheek is under his hand, until the back of his neck is cupped safely in Stiles' palm. Derek is warm, his body close over him, arms on either side of Stiles' bent legs on the couch. Stiles smiles at him, sharp. "Oh my god. I can't. Listen to yourself. Scott? No. It's - and I _still_ don't know how this happened - but it's _you_."

Derek's jaw falls open. Stiles shuts it for him, with a finger.

"Derek? It's you. I think it's you," Stiles says again, willing for him to understand. The stupid Siren's stupid love-enthrallment-spell didn't work because Stiles is in stupid love with Derek. 

But Derek says nothing. His eyes are blank and hard and made of steel. Stiles feels his fingers grow cold, and he drops them, resting his elbows on his knees instead.

"Oh," Derek breathes.

"Oh? That's all you're going to say? _Oh?_ "

Something rattles in his chest when he breathes. Derek doesn't say anything. 

He wrenches his feet from under Derek's thighs and nearly falls over in his haste to stand. "God, okay," he blathers, more embarrassed than angry. "I thought - well, I guess I know where we stand, am I right?"

The opening credits are playing for the next show on television, the same one in a series, and Stiles is slipping his feet into his flip flops by the door by the time Derek finally says something.

"Stiles, wait."

He doesn't want to, most of him itching to get out of the house, to escape this open raw feeling he has, that he brought upon himself, but he waits, frozen, with his hand on the knob.

The floorboards creak as Derek pads over to him, and then Derek's hand is on his shoulder, a silent plea to turn, to face him. Stiles turns, and Derek crowds in close, breath ghosting over his cheeks and his neck. He kisses him, once, a dry press of lips, and then he pulls back with an uncertain look in his eyes. He licks his lips and murmurs, "I don't know how it happened, either. And I didn't know how to - how to change what we had into something more. And then I thought - I thought you found someone else. It made me _crazy_ to be around you. But, yeah, me too. Me, too."

"Oh," Stiles says, feels the air whoosh out of his lungs, knees weak, and then they are kissing in earnest, making up for lost weeks.

.

"Maybe I should be a match-maker, instead?" Sara says from her perch on Derek's barstool at the breakfast counter, spooning scrambled eggs onto her plate from the serving dish. "You two seem to be getting on well." She points with a her utensil at Derek, who's buttering what seems to be an entire loaf's worth of toast. Stiles ran into the Siren at the grocery, once, and somehow was roped into a conversation with her, especially after he saw her shopping cart had been filled with flash-frozen microwave dinners and bags of potato chips.

"It's not really match-making," Stiles informs her, beating the waffle batter. "Not if we're all ready together."

"Yeah, but from what you're telling me, I was the catalyst that put you _really_ together." She waggles her eyebrows at them both and Derek frowns.

"It's not like we were _pretending_ before."

"Yeah, you were just stupid," she admonishes, clucking her tongue at Derek. She bops him on the nose with her spoon. "Now where are these waffles I was promised?"

**Author's Note:**

> Was originally an [anon prompt](http://andnowforyaya.tumblr.com/post/48354241453/sterek-stiles-is-resistant-to-a-love) on tumblr that was supposed to be around 500 words? Whoops.
> 
> Title from Walk the Moon's [Shiver, Shiver](https://soundcloud.com/939theriver/walk-the-moon-shiver-shiver)
> 
> Additionally, I am on tumblr: [fan](http://andnowforyaya.tumblr.com) and [personal](http://paperkrane.tumblr.com)


End file.
